To ground this fear in love-
This sleepwalking ant made of thorns and a tender pulse of the middle *****:

TO GROUND THIS FEAR IN LOVE.

I thought of you as a mother today, as any other day, I thought of you as a mother. I read a poem about a decades long relationship being sundered and thought of yourself, twenty years into motherhood, deciding that I am a sleepwalking ant made of thorns.

My father died after the divorce,
though his body kept on living,
and I have fear that must be grounded in love.
And love, here, so basic.